it is
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: So there's Fran, Balthier, and Ashe. All leaning against a railing in a nameless town with sideways glances and silent communication. Yeah. Vaan doesn't understand either. — Ashe x Balthier x Fran — slightly


- - -¤** it i s**;;»

* * *

It's Fran. It's Balthier. It's Ashe. And they're all leaning up against a railing, side by side. Not saying a word. Just standing, thinking, waiting for a portrait to be made of them (this _is_ a one time thing), contemplating in their own minds how awkward this _could_ be. Except maybe Fran.

But, in fact, it isn't at all.

But they are all twitching, sideways glancing but not really seeing, taking in the sea salt breezes to calm the skittering nerves that are caused, by really, nothing at all. Except maybe Fran.

She doesn't sideways glance, because she sees with her ears. She smells the sea, _oh yes_, the sea, with its dominant, overtaking sting in her delicately lined nostrils. But there are other things, like the hint of Balthier and the cactus flower shampoo of the princess, subtitled by the fresh fruit in the market square. Cantaloupe, elderberries, apples.

She could've sworn some carrots were making their way through, too.

But still, she feels the almost-not-quite awkwardness between each of the bodies in correspondence while she tap-tap-taps the railing that doesn't feel a thing.

She can't understand the untraceable tension. She doesn't even know where it _stems _from. She's a viera, and lust is a desire that has been amputated from her thoughts. Matters of the heart don't mean anything either, so even when she'd never admit to Balthier, she wants to know why he tries and tries with his futile advances. He knows what her reaction will be every time, and she wonders if he's ever thought about why she's the same _every time_.

She _wants_ to understand, but she hasn't quite figured out _what _yet. She wonders if she'll have enough time though, because...—

She wants to understand why his fingers are two inches away from Ashe's and five inches away from hers.

**- **

Ashe likes watching the ocean water, mesmerized by the crystalline fragments lapping against the same cliff over and over and over—so independently dependent.

And the cliff doesn't seem to mind, really, taking it over and over and over, shinier and slicker each time. She vaguely wonders if it will wear down into single sediment pieces like everyone says, leaving the waves to reach for nothing, to fall, to crash all alone someday.

She glances down and sees colorful, two-toned rings that make no sense, intimately securing masculine, tanned fingers. Blunt, slender, adept. Conniving. And she doesn't know why she thinks them so alluring, clouding her senses, making her hands say, _touch touch touch._

But she knows she doesn't want to, because he'll mangle her. He'll take and he'll rip apart.

The ocean and the sky, she sees, collide distantly, betraying the eyes. It may look like they do, but it's an illusion. She involuntarily feels a pang in her ribcage that she almost wishes she didn't.

But she wants to give him more confidence, more trust, but she can't anymore. She's too independent, too rational, and the day she let's her hair down, she swears it won't be for him. It can't be, because she doesn't want it to be.

She looks back to the sea, and tries to find if that's the truth, deep, deep down into the dark, dark cerulean. She doesn't know where else to look, cornered by a wall and a person almost completely reliable, almost completely untrustworthy.

She hears a noise from behind, and she could have sworn it sounded just like the collision of water and rock. And she becomes even more uncertain looking at Basch, who seems to be very, very far away.

- -

Balthier ends up being in the middle of it all. In the middle of them, in the middle of thoughts and emotions—he's on the tip-top of the almost-not-there triangle.

He'd break up this weird silence, start his sharp mouth with easy conversation, except that he can't. There are too many things on his mind right now, this and that and the upcoming pirating escapade and this one year reunion that shouldn't be like it is. At this rate, he knows he'll start graying by twenty-eight and the image of his psychotic father will forever haunt him most definitely then.

But he finds that the silence is okay, the monotony of the ocean and bustling of the market are inviting, and almost soothing for his mind.

"Vaan, stop staring!"

_Almost._

It doesn't take away from his awareness, though. He notices the postures beside him: hands that are tapping, twitching, thrumming. It's a bit overwhelming, all this tension.

He peeks at Ashe, considering she's doing most of the finger taps, if not all. She seems unsure, so vulnerable at this moment, and he finds himself wanting to give her assuring words, touch her shoulder lightly, let her know that he isn't always deceitful. He's only seen her like this once before, and it's disconcerting. Vulnerable isn't Ashe, and neither is the anxious bundle that's wrapping around her like a vice.

But he knows he can't; she won't take it from him, won't take anything really. She might look at him with slit-like eyes, cobra-like eyes that only she can make, and not take him seriously.

He sighs inwardly, looking forward to where the Strahl was parked. He needs to look at Fran, but he finds himself wanting to put it off. He wants to know what the thing is with her that makes him feel like a bashful fifteen year old under the gaze of an evaluating mother. It's not like that all the times. Just sometimes. Like now. In this situation.

He finally chances a glance, taking her in in a split second and looking away before she can catch him.

He isn't sure what he feels in regard to her stance. She's like a statue, and she was breathing so slightly, he barely caught the minuscule rise of her chest. So to find that her shoulders seem tense, and her eyebrows are slanting over her eyes comes as an almost surprise. He thought that he was _sure_ she wouldn't be bothered by this too. But him seeing that it does, just a tiny bit, makes him a tiny bit smug. Her impassive responses to his easy flirtations weren't always questionable, and he likes finding out that the idea of this _thing _that's woven it's way around and around and around bothers her.

So he decides to talk to Fran privately in the security of the Strahl after this reunion. He gains more courage closer to the sky anyway, and he knows he'll need it.

This is why he turns to Ashe, not exactly knowing if he will say anything. But his breath catches when he sees that she's already looking at him, that guarded yet vulnerable aura still surrounding her. And he's watching her not smile, not reconstruct herself, not show any emotion on her face at all.

Then all of a sudden he's hugging her, and it's so _odd, _but it isn't. He has never had this much contact with her before, and even though it's not unpleasant, it feels out of place to be doing this _right here._

He can't remember whether she reciprocated it, if she pushed away or if he was the first to pull back. But now, they're looking at each other again, and he notices something shimmering in her hand. She quickly grabs his, places something warm and small inside, and closes his fingers around it. She looks up at him, straight, straight into his eyes. She wants to say something, he can tell, but there isn't anything to say anymore. There never was, really.

She smiles softly at him, and it's hard to take in at first.

He feels a singular, poignant sensation that's very new and very unwelcome when he watches her walk away. He absently wonders if she has a stronger state of mind than him.

Then he scoffs, waving a hand at his preposterous thinking and turns to Fran to say, "I need to work on becoming less attractive, wouldn't you say -"

But she isn't there anymore.

- - -

Vaan doesn't understand what just happened.

"_What?"_

Penelo slaps her forehead and punches him in the arm, acquiring a dignified yelp.

And thus giving away their _other_ hiding spot.

- - - -

"Basch..."

He turns around to look at her, taking in the sight of tired, broken, and unguarded.

He holds out his arms. It's why he's here.

- - - - -

He finds her sitting on the cliff. Looking at her, the things he was thinking about saying don't suffice to the best appropriate level anymore.

So he takes a seat by her and doesn't say anything at all.

»;;**f in** ¤** - - -**

author's notes: maybe ooc, very chicken scratch-esque, not quite so satisfying, but i wanted to try it out anyway.  
BIG HUGGLES TO: S . Z i x because you prodded this idea in the first place. annnd because you're awesome and i heart you. 8D

reviews are love, as usual. :)


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